


always a well-dressed fraud

by hippocampers



Series: always a well-dressed fraud [1]
Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippocampers/pseuds/hippocampers
Summary: He lets his eyes fall closed, content to let his hand ruffle through the blond waves spread across his chest. He’s seconds to dropping off before David’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.“I can’t keep seeing you like this.”





	always a well-dressed fraud

**Author's Note:**

> title from hozier's "foreigner's god"
> 
> i'm v sorry

He hates the term, but Don will forever insist that ‘post-coital’ is the best state to be in. A veil of sleepiness settles atop them both, David’s steady breathing matching the rhythm of his own. He lets his eyes fall closed, content to let his hand ruffle through the blond waves spread across his chest. He’s seconds to dropping off before David’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.

 

“I can’t keep seeing you like this.”

 

A fist wraps itself around Don’s stomach, tight and unyielding. Even David looks as though he wants to take it back, but he’s known the other man long enough to see the way he steels himself and bites his tongue. Don sighs. He can’t pretend he wasn’t expecting it. It happens more frequently now, nearly every time they meet.

 

“David... Don’t, please—” 

 

“No, Don.” David shifts, tugging the thin sheet with him to cover his chest in a pointless act of modesty. It almost makes a smile tug at Don’s lips, to see how eager David is to cover himself despite the fact that they’ve been intimate for the past hour and many times before. Almost. “What about Miriam? Can you imagine how it would hurt her? If she knew?”

 

“She won’t know.” But David’s words have had their desired effect. He does love Miriam. Really. Just not the way he loves David. “She doesn’t need to know.”

 

In truth, he’s sure she does already. No man plays golf as often or as long as Don does. 

 

“That doesn’t make it fair and you know it.” David’s lips twist a little, a mix of disappointment and hurt. Don has to look away. 

 

“Stop it.”

 

David’s hand slips into his. “You need to tell her. Tell her, or we stop this. We can still be friends-“

 

“We couldn’t.” Don’s voice breaks with emotion but he can’t bring himself to be ashamed. “I couldn’t see you at Sunday bloody dinner and not think of this, of us, of what we could be if I wasn’t such a fucking coward-“ 

 

“Scrippsy, stop it. Stop.” He tightens his grip on Don’s hand nearly imperceptibly, stopping Don from pulling away. Ironic, he thinks, that David should choose to hold on when he’s the one breaking it off. “I don’t want to lose you but the more we do this, the guiltier I feel. Don’t you?” Don does. “What would God think, hm? Isn’t infidelity a sin-“ 

 

That’s a first, bringing God into it. This time Don really does pull away. “Don’t. Don’t you dare use that. Everything I do these days is a sin and its killing me.” He turns away as he gets off the bed, keeping his back to David as he dresses. At least the polo shirt doesn’t have buttons; his hands are shaking too violently for any finesse. In the mirror, he catches David’s eye – the pity in them clearer than day – and glances away. “I don’t know what I can do. I can’t tell her, David.”

 

“Why not?” David quirks a brow, letting the sheet drop to his lap. A flutter stirs in Don’s stomach and he swallows hard to quell it. 

 

“The shame. It’d kill my mum if we divorced. She’s hurt enough I never gave her grandkids. Miriam too; dropping hints about babies left, right and centre. She wants us to go for fertility treatment. Test my bloody sperm or something.” A laugh tears from his throat, but it’s without humour. “I think the fact I can’t get it up for her is the main problem.” 

 

Relaying it aloud to David makes the unfairness of it all hit him. A hot tear swells in the corner of his eye before falling down his cheek. Behind him, David rises, reaching up over Don’s shoulder to wipe it away. He stays there, looking that the image they create in the mirror. Like this – David naked and kneeling, Don half-dressed and ready to bolt – it almost looks like David is the one begging him to stay. If he were to ask, Don would do it in a second. 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. Not your fault.” Truth be told, the few times he’s managed anything with Miriam have been the result of imagined images of David in her place, until the dirty tentacles of guilt catch up with him and Don inevitably wilts. He peels away from David, who lets him go. “I’m off.”

 

It’s abrupt, but if he stays any longer, Don’s scared he’ll never leave.

 

“Drive safely,” David tells him, deflating into the sheet and tugging it up over dusky pink nipples once more. “Let me know when you get in or I’ll worry myself sick.”

 

“I know you will,” Don murmurs. “I’ll text.”

 

David nods, and Don allows himself a final glance as he walks out the door. David’s hollow smile sticks with him the whole drive home.

 

-

 

“How was golf, dear?” 

 

An aggressive floral scent invades his nose as soon as Don gets through the door. He tries not to wince. It’s an effort, especially as Miriam appears and winds slim arms around his neck, leaving a lipstick print on his cheek. He smiles out of politeness, pressing a cursory kiss of his own to her forehead. He hopes she doesn’t smell the whisky on his breath.

 

Just the one. He was driving, of course.

 

“Not bad. Lost to Stuart again, but then he has more practice than me,” Don says, turning away from his wife’s embrace to hang up his coat. It’s only now that he notices Miriam’s in her favourite silky nightgown, a peach that to any other man would prove more than enticing. For Don, it sparks no fire in his loins, no heat in his belly. Just an emptiness that not even whisky can fill. She’s clearly expecting something that he can’t give.

 

“More than you? Golly, he must never be in the house,” Miriam laughs, leaning against the wall in that way she did on their wedding night. He smiles at her blandly, dread creeping up his throat in the form of bitter bile. “Have you eaten?”

 

“Yes,” he lies, with practiced ease. “Sandwiches on the green then some chips at the club afterward.”

 

Miriam tuts fondly, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. “Good. Come to bed, then? It’s late again.” 

 

He knows it won’t be straight to sleep. It’ll be ten minutes of half-hearted foreplay before Don turns over with a uttered apology and they both pretend not to hear the other’s tears.

 

“Yes, love. I’ll just get some water and meet you there. Go and get yourself settled.”

 

Miriam nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “Hurry then, dear. I’ve got a feeling tonight could be the one.” Her hand ghosts briefly across her stomach as though Don needs the reminder, and he gives another guilty smile before averting his gaze. 

 

“Alright. Won’t be a tick,” he promises as she retreats up the stairs, and tactfully waits until she’s out of sight before pulling his phone from his pocket.

 

 _I’m home,_ he taps out. _Please can we meet again next week?_ Don presses ‘Send’ before filling a glass of water he doesn’t want, and padding up the stairs. It doesn’t escape his notice that he shouldn’t be feeling like a condemned man at the promise of sex with his wife. He should feel anything but. 

 

It’s not until Don’s in his bedroom, stripping to his underwear with his back to a waiting Miriam that his phone beeps with David’s reply. He checks it before sliding under the covers, and bites back a smile at the words.

 

 _Oh, alright,_ it reads. _One more night._

 

It’s always “one more night”. Don dreads the day when David really means it. But for now, he’ll take what he can get. One more night it is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> again, i'm sorry for this.
> 
> hoping to do the kind of unnamed sunday fics thing for the history boys! don't hold me to it though.
> 
> you can ind me on my tumblr. comments and kudos feed my ego.


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